maine

updated: 10.10.06

old stuff: was so pissed about delta i didn't even get to the part when i was actually in maine. here's some pics from branden's wedding last year because i don't have the energy to write more at the moment. i'm still mad.


my grandparents at the hall where my cousin had his wedding reception. wish i took this one. don't know who did, most likely a family member of some sort. someone take credit for it. i was off getting drunk.


me and branden on mary's mother's bike. wedding outfits were pretty wacky, but yo it wasn't my wedding so it's cool. i think the last time i wore those pants was in high school. branden got his the day before the wedding. good times.

[edit: photos were taken by my other cousin's wife, pamela, who also used to go out with this asshole matt wright, or wrong as i'd prefer. what does that have to do with her? well... nothing. i just wanted everyone to know he's an asshole, and not of the heroic variety.]

new stuff: ok. it's been a few weeks since the whole delta incident and i think i've finally calmed down enough to talk briefly about the maine trip. Peaks Island is probably the best place i've been to in the last year or so since my cousin's wedding. i can't really articulate what's so great about it, but after six years of living in major cities something about Peak's is so utterly refreshing even though during most of its summer months is very touristy and crowded. i've never been there when it was like this. peak's is two miles off the coast of Portland, in the Casco Bay. you take a ferry to get there, and all along the way you'll see orange floaters with ropes tied to them. at the end of these ropes are lobster traps. they're all over the place. the back of the lobster boats are open, like a pickup truck without the tailgate, and lobster people fish up the ropes and haul the lobster out of the cold, clean water. i'm working on trying to get a job on a lobster boat.

once you get off the ferry you walk up a driveway to a parking lot and a couple stores. we jump in a car. the doors are always unlocked. nobody locks their car doors here, it seems. at least the locals don't. there's a tiny post office and a little market, a gas station that looks like it's reserved for fire trucks, an actual fire station, a library, a bike rental place, a couple of pricey but tasty restaurants, and a elementary school tucked in there somehwere. there's a lot of houses: some of the usual cape cods; some multi-storied beachfront houses with yards and long, winding porches; tacky new houses that stand out like sore thumbs; expensive, obnoxious looking glass houses. there's no code here, no neighborhood standard to tell you what to build, which has its obvious ups and downs. my cousin's house is gray with a spire and a crow's nest platform which is good for smoking cigarettes on. inside there's FIFA06.

FIFA06: this was the source of much competition between my cousin branden and i. i don't know how mary dealt with it most of the time. ever since we've been kids, branden and me have been screaming at each other over video games—the last i remember being goldeneye for the N64, though we'd usually team up with my brother on perfect dark's version of the PvP and fight like 8 or 9 computer controlled characters. i don't really know much about soccer, but i got pretty into the world cup this summer. i picked Barcelona since i know ronaldinho plays for them and that dude eto'o and that lou ferrigno-looking guy puyjols. anyway, we spent hours screaming at each other, cheating, talking ridiculous shit, doing my best not to throw his controller at him, and ultimately the score inched near even after losing the first 8 matches. i know he's up there practicing for the next time i go up, so i have to buy this game.


[ me and branden getting drunk in front of my parent's house at my brother and mari's baby shower a couple summers ago.]

back to the island: me and branden went fishing a couple times on the ocean side. first time we went at night and it was pitch black; the only things we could really see were our smokes and the white crush of waves crashing agains the little rock jetty we were standing on. the water was rough—if we fell in we'd be goners. plus we only had one fishing rod so we both had to take turns smoking and fishing. we caught one striper that night. a couple days later we went in the morning and the sky was bright and sea was blue and cold. this high tide was a lot calmer than the previous venture out, though i'd probably still be doomed if i fell in, but i'd probably die happier. feeling the sun and the cool, clean air, seeing the cliffs and the pine forests of the adjacent islands felt like you were really supposed to be there; not just here on the island, but here—like this is what people should see everyday of their lives: the enormous night sky, the patient air, the tall cliffs and thick trees and the hushed ocean stretching beyond. i couldn't even tag there, though somehow i wanted to know that i'd been there. it's probably the closest i can get to the vertiginous sections of US1 i'd rush off to past pacifica south and muir woods north when i'd have crazy mental breakdowns and stand 200 feet over the ocean and imagine the silence of falling down. anyway... we caught two more fish that day and tossed them back in. me and branden had some fake mexican food in portland, and i'm pretty sure i found a pube in mine (fucking hippies). saw some little punker kids, which for some reason was pretty amusing and fun. caught a plane back to nyc and have been plotting a way to get back ever since.